“I’m not asking you to.” She felt a kinship of her own with the Hawaiian. “In your world, you have beliefs that a haole cannot understand, let alone accept as real. Some of the stories told as myths and legends are based on fact. Am I right?”
He agreed.
“Keoni . . .” She hesitated, praying that he would listen and accept what she was about to say. “I know Blake has told you about my second sight.”
“Yes, we have talked. But then, it would be easy for you to guess that we have discussed you.”
“If he hasn’t been here in this cabin in days, how would I know he is concerned about my condition?”
“You were terribly ill in San Juan—”
“Not with morning sickness, as he is wondering.”
“You overheard us talking when we were on deck,” he said, pointing upward. “Or you heard the woman at the mission.”
He had a ready explanation for everything she tried to use to make a case for herself.
“I’d like a chance to prove myself. May I hold your hand?”
He balked, then reluctantly complied. Though it wasn’t necessary to close her eyes, she did it to aid her concentration.
“Think of something I would know nothing about.” Pictures and images popped into her head. She smiled at the vision of the large half-moon bay of calm blue water on the north shore of Kaua‘i.
“Ah, that’s easy—Hanalei.” She heard his sudden intake of breath. Considering that the island was his home, she wasn’t surprised to pick up his memory of it. Actually, it was almost too simple. She wanted more of a challenge. “Think of a special day in your past . . . There you go . . . Good . . . I see some of your people around you.”
Cara gave a precise description of each person, naming his mother and father and siblings. And bride. It was his wedding day. As he quietly acknowledged her observation, she suddenly received a torrent of images as if a floodgate had been opened. He had lost his young bride in a hurricane during his first long voyage, later learning about their twin babies with her.
“Oh, Keoni . . .” Sympathy swelled her heart. She reached up and tenderly cupped his cheek. “I’m so sorry. Here I have been talking about Blake and his painful past when you, too, have scars that have not completely healed.”
His fingers wrapped around her wrist, holding her tight yet not hurting her. She sensed that this man would never harm her.
“How can you know these things?” he asked, awe in his voice.
“A gift from the gods.”
This was the moment of truth. She had to tell him the truth. With luck, he would believe her. Then maybe, just maybe, she would have an ally on board the Valiant, someone who could reason with Blake. “Keoni, I am not from this time. I have come here from the future. Far in the future.”
His grip slackened. His eyes grew wide. His jaw dropped. Any second now, she expected him to hightail it out of there faster than a speeding bullet.
Then he said, “I believe you.”
The following morning a fair breeze picked up again, allowing the Valiant to round the high point. Entering the narrow outlet of a small river, the crew fired the bow guns in salute, which was returned from the shore. With barely enough clearance for their single ship, the crew brought her through this snaking waterway that followed the inside face of the point and curved inland around a finger of land where the bay opened to a spacious anchorage.
To the north, a chain of hills ran inland from the point. To the east and south, the landscape was low and green from spring rains, yet sported only a scattering of trees, none of which were taller than six or eight feet. On the beach, four long wooden hide houses were lined up end to end, the only signs of civilization. The presidio and its village were three miles eastward; another three miles further was the mission.
Mooring within a cable’s length of the sandy shore of San Diego, the Valiant joined two other vessels at anchor. One was the brig Pilgrim from Boston, another the Ayacucho, a long, sharp brig bearing the British colors, each standing off the beach in front of a hide house that was under their use while on the coast.
Blake had sent his steward to fetch Cara, unwilling to set foot in that cabin and risk being alone with her. After his last visit, he had vowed to stay away from her, though it had been almost impossible to keep from going to her. Yet, if he’d gone to her one more time, he would have made love to her. He was certain of it. Then he would never be able to leave her alone in this uncivilized territory with its volatile political coups and rough men.
She had asked his help to bring her to this port. He owed her nothing more than that. His decision had been made. He would sail for Boston within the week without Cara. And nothing would change his mind. Nothing.
When Cara appeared on deck, every man in the crew became aware of her presence, glancing her way. Even with her male clothing and cropped hair, she was unmistakably female with her large, expressive eyes and full lips. In the bright sunlight, her Indian and Spanish blood was much more evident in her light coppery skin. His own blood warmed at the sight of her, stirring up thoughts he had no right to be thinking.
Angered by his powerful urges, he barked at Mr. Bellows to get his men back on task.
Allowing Jimmy to assist Cara into the boat, Blake stood back until the last, then called Bud, who looked forward to these land excursions after confinement on the small ship.
No words were spoken during the short trip to shore with the Kānaka oarsmen, including Keoni. Halfway, Bud began barking at the pack of dogs living around the hide houses. They responded with their own raucous yips and howls. Before the longboat landed, Bud leaped off the bow, splashing into the foot-deep water, where he was greeted by a tall, agile canine that outweighed him by several pounds.
“Welly!” cried all the Kānaka in unison, greeting the jowled namesake of the Duke of Wellington that was a strange mix of broad-faced mastiff and long-legged greyhound.
“What is it?” Cara asked Keoni, rather than Blake, who was closer to her. Her friendship with the cook had rapidly grown into a bond that sorely chafed Blake. After noticing the numerous “language lessons” over the last several days, he did not like the way her smiling eyes gazed at his jovial brother instead of him.
While Keoni told her about the leader of the pack, Blake ground his back teeth to keep from interjecting himself into the benign conversation.
As soon as the boat was pulled up on dry land, he leaped out and turned to offer his gentlemanly assistance to Cara, only to see her being lifted off her feet by Keoni, whose wide hands spanned her small waist. When she was set down, those hands remained on her waist far longer than Blake thought was necessary.
Tipping her head back, she looked up at Keoni and thanked him, saying, “Mahalo nui loa.”
“Noʻu ka hauʽoli.” The pleasure is mine, he said in his native tongue, then offered to take her to speak with the Kānaka about the boy she was searching for. A number of them lived inside an enormous baking oven, built and abandoned by a Russian crew and large enough to sleep nearly a dozen men. All the Islanders gathered together to smoke, drink, and have a fair time while in port at this “Kānaka Hotel” or “Oahu Coffeehouse.”
As she paused with a concentrated effort to translate his words, Blake stepped forward to put an end to their lesson.
“She does not need your services, big brother,” he said to Keoni in the Island language. “You ask questions about the boy here at the beach and the oven.” Then turning to Cara, he grasped her upper arm. “In the meantime, I will take you to the village to ask if anyone there knows about him.”
She wrested her arm away from him, clearly perturbed with him for taking the decision out of her hands. “I’ll go on my own, thank you.”
“You’ll do nothing of the kind. This is not a safe place for you alone.” He gestured toward men bringing off uncured hides from the ships and piling them outside the houses. Others worked at pickling, drying, and cleaning the cattle skins for the five-month storage i
n the hull of the vessels bound for home.
Would he need to explain to her that this male-only community offered few opportunities for the men to see a lady, let alone socialize with one? Couldn’t she see the reason for his concern?
“You win,” she agreed halfheartedly, though she didn’t offer her arm to him. “Let’s get going. No horses, though. I’ve been cooped up too long without any exercise. A three-mile walk will do me good.”
Leaving a smiling Keoni behind, Blake motioned in the direction of the small village. “This way . . .”
“What about Bud?”
“He’ll romp with his friends for hours.”
As if the dog wished to make a fool of his master, Bud raced up to them and fell into step next to Cara. She chuckled. “I guess he still feels he needs to protect me.”
Blake grunted in reluctant agreement, then fell silent. They had not walked far when Cara glanced over her shoulder, paused, then turned to gaze down at the bay. Sunlight glinted off the calm water. The four long wooden hide houses stretched out on the beach below them. Her attention was drawn to the south end of the last building, where three sailors worked out of sight of the other men on the beach.
A dark Indian approached them, cautiously looking around. At his side was a woman in a dress that was nothing more than an earth-brown sack.
“He is her husband,” explained Blake as the Indian appeared to be speaking to one of the hide workers while the other two listened, also glancing around nervously. As the husband nodded, his wife was circled by the three men and led around the corner of the hide house. The Indian then turned, walked several paces, and sat down on the ground.
“Oh-my-god,” breathed Cara in horror. “We’ve got to do something to save that poor woman.”
Before she started down the hill toward the building, he grabbed her hand. “Wait, Cara.”
“I can’t stand here while those men rape her!”
“As appalling as it may sound, she agreed to that arrangement. No one forced her. She went of her own accord.”
Cara stared at the Indian. “He’s just sitting there? Letting his wife—”
“Indian wives are often brought here by their husbands to make money for their families. They cannot sneak down here at night without alarming the dogs. When they are really desperate, they come here during the day. If she is caught by the alcaldes, she will be whipped.”
“Just her? Not the men? Not her husband for bringing her?”
“Only the women are punished for illicit behavior. But the authorities have been known to look the other way if the woman is merely an Indian who is not worthy of having her virtue protected.”
“Willing or not,” she said sadly, her voice barely audible, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, “it’s still rape.”
Blake suddenly imagined Cara in a similar situation, forced to earn her living by selling herself to these men. The very idea angered him. She could not be left to fend for herself. Before the week was out, he would find a safe home for her. He would also leave behind enough money for her to live modestly, if not well. But for how long? Until she found this boy named Andrew? That is, if the ten-year-old boy actually existed.
“Andrew does exist, Blake.”
Breaking free of his hand, Cara spun away from the view of the hide house, her pained expression etched upon her face. She marched up the hill, leaving him speechless.
Regaining his composure, he said to her retreating backside. “Dammit, you did it again, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” she hollered over her shoulder. Bud traipsed along between them, then pulled up short when Cara turned around. Planting her feet wide, she hooked her hands on her hips. “And I will manage without you or your money, thank you very much. I assure you that I have no intention of selling this body to anyone.”
“Good,” Blake barked. Bud barked, too. “Shut up, Bud.”
“Don’t take your anger out on him. He’s only reacting to you.”
“He’s my dog. I’ll say or do whatever I please with him.”
“Well, you may own him, but you don’t own me. So I would prefer you keep your thoughts to yourself.”
“I did keep them to myself. You are the one who took them without my permission,” he argued, silencing her.
The absolute absurdity of his statement hung in the air. The corner of her mouth twitched as she fought to keep from smiling. The smallest chuckle slipped out. His dog yipped in playful excitement, then dashed toward her.
Blake lunged forward. “No, Bud!”
With startled laughter, she caught the huge front paws with her hands as Blake grabbed the boisterous canine from behind. Stumbling on a rock, he joined the momentum of the leaping dog. The three of them went down. Twisting his body during the fall, he managed to keep his full weight, and Bud’s, from crushing Cara.
In the midst of trying to get his dog out of the way, which was impossible, he grunted, “Are . . . you . . . hurt?”
“No, but—” She sputtered. “He won’t quit licking me. No, Bud. No more kisses.”
Damn dog, he groused silently. Damn LUCKY dog.
Blake was not yet ready to let go of his anger and frustration with Cara. Or with Bud. Finally freeing the arm that had been pinned under his dog, he knelt on his knees and tugged Bud to his feet, scolding him soundly and sending him off to explore the bushes.
Breathless from laughter, she lay on her back, her arms flung out at her side. Her giggles completely melted his annoyance. Her rich, coffee-colored eyes danced with mirth. Dusty and mussed, she still looked enchantingly beautiful. He gazed at her smiling lips, wanting to kiss her, knowing he shouldn’t.
Reaching out, he brushed his knuckles across the hollow of her cheek. She stilled.
“What am I thinking now?” he asked, his mind filled with thoughts of wanting her.
“That I frighten you.”
Chapter 12
Blake pulled back. “You are wrong.”
“I know you want to make love to me. It’s obvious we both want it.” Cara’s gaze was direct, unwavering. “But underneath all that lust, I scare the hell out of you.”
He shot to his feet. For an instant, his gentlemanly manners prompted him to offer his hand to help her up. Then he walked several feet from her, putting some much-needed distance between them.
He heard her approach, then felt her hands come around his waist. She pressed her cheek to the middle of his back. When he realized she was probably peeking into his mind, he tried to empty his head of all thoughts. But the harder he worked at it, the harder it got.
“Let go, Blake.”
“Let go? You are the one holding me.”
“I meant for you to stop holding on to the demons from your past.”
“You are mistaken, Cara. I have told you before that I have already let go of my past, so much so that I have forgotten it entirely.”
“But I have the key that will open that door. I am the key. I know things about you—”
“Through Keoni.”
“No, through touching you. I saw something terrible happen to you as a boy. And, through me, you can learn about your past. You must go back before you can move forward.”
She said nothing more but remained standing behind him, holding him in a gentle embrace. Radiant heat from her body seeped into every fiber of his being, infusing him with her warmth and compassion. He closed his eyes and took a shaky breath, giving himself time to think of what she had said, what she had meant. While he had no basis of knowledge to comprehend the concept of this “letting go” of which she spoke, he somehow knew inside himself that Cara’s statements had a ring of truth.
In these few brief moments of contemplation, he’d had no intention of reviewing his past, remembered or forgotten. Yet he found himself mentally exploring a cove on the island of Kaua‘i with his new friend and adopted brother.
“You and Keoni, that’s good,” encouraged Cara’s soft voice. “Is this right after you came to the islands?”
>
“Yes, I was fourteen.” He saw the officer who had brought him to live with the Pahinui family. He saw his new parents and sisters and brothers. Then he remembered their tears when they saw the scars across his back.
“How did you get the scars? Think back . . .”
“Captain Myers.” Blake’s body tensed at the memory of the man who possessed the face of Satan himself. The heinous leer bore down on him, growing larger and larger. “No!”
“It’s all right,” soothed Cara. “You’re safe. Stand up to him. He can’t hurt you now.”
Blake broke away from her. “I can’t do this. Come, let’s go to the village to look for Andrew.” He started off again, leaving her to decide whether to stand there or go with him.
With a heavy sigh of resignation, she followed him. “Do you believe he exists or are you just pacifying me?”
“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” he murmured as Bud came up beside him and nudged his hand for a pat.
The village consisted of a few dozen squat adobe huts and some larger whitewashed houses, all of which were clustered at the base of a hill on which the old fort stood in a state of near ruin, though still occupied by a ragtag group of Mexican soldiers.
As they approached the small community, Cara had a feeling that she would learn nothing about Andrew from the people here. After talking with women, particularly mothers, without any luck, they walked up to the fort. They learned nothing more when they met the pompous commandant and his family, who did not know and did not care about a lost little boy.
They left the presidio with Bud loping ahead of them, flushing a flock of small brown birds from the bush. He took off after them with no hope of catching a single one.
“I need to go to the mission,” she said, watching the black Lab.
“It lies another three miles east of here in a valley. Are you sure you want to walk?”
“I may regret it tomorrow, but right now it feels good to stretch my legs.”
“But the padre will probably tell you no more than the villagers, that they know of no yellow-haired child.”
Mystic Memories Page 16
